


Crown of Thorns

by Cân Cennau (cancennau)



Series: Llenwadau Bingo Trôp Slâc OTW (2016) [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Coming Out, Dialogue, Gen, Intersex Kelas Parmak, Intersexism, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancennau/pseuds/C%C3%A2n%20Cennau
Summary: prompt: rites of passageKelas decides to come out at work. Their adik has concerns.





	

“Are you _certain_ this is a good idea?”

“ _Adik_ , if I answered that truthfully you’d say I was a liar.”

“I get the feeling that your conception of truth is _vastly_ different from mine.”

Kelas Parmak looked into the mirror with a long-suffering expression. They stood in their bedroom, wardrobes open and clothes scattered along the railing of the bed, having spent an hour trying to choose what to wear. In the reflection in the mirror, Kelas gave themselves a look up and down, analysing the _kimmet_ they wore - a grey Kardasi medical dress, knee length, with short sleeves and a yellow ruched fabric that sat around the shoulders. Their _adik_ stood behind them - an older Cardassian, of nearly sixty, carefully threading the corset back of the _kimmet_.

“You know what they’ll say,” their _adik_ was saying, as they tightened the thin ropes. “‘You seen Şeka’s doctor child?’ they’ll say. ‘I saw them in a _kimmet_ on the ward - but they don’t have a _chula_ -”

“No Cardassian’s spoken like that in _years._ ” Kelas pulled the sleeves over their shoulder. “The only people who speak like that now are the offworlders, and they have different cultures.”

“And if your offworlder colleagues have something to say about it?”

“I have no offworlder colleagues, as you very well know. The law doesn’t allow offworlders to work in public business.”

“What about off-worlder patients?”

“I’d like to see them find better care else where.” Kelas sighed, and rubbed their forehead. “Must we have this conversation? This is what I’m wearing. I’m not going back now.”

“We must, because I don’t feel like you’re taking this seriously. What if your boss calls you up on it, or the offworlders complain you’re masquerading as a woman or-”

“‘Masquerading as a woman’?” Kelas pulled at the edge of their dress, dislodging a caught seam. “Don’t be absurd. I’m me - this dress is mine. Their binary identities don’t apply.”

“And if they use the wrong pronouns?”

“Then I’ll correct them. Or I’ll wear a name tag. It’ll say ‘Dr Kelas Parmak, Obstetrician, they/them/their, don’t ask what’s under my gown.’”

“Kelas, be serious about this.”

“I am.” Fairly happy with how the dress hung, they turned back to Şeka. “ _Adik_ , I’m going to be _fine._ It’s not like I’m going all like that Ferengi reality star, Quazmi, spending a week in a dress then writing an article called ‘Methods of the Fairer Sex’ and lecturing everyone I meet on ‘how I understand women and my own gender so much more now’.”

Şeka shuddered. “Stars _no_. If you’d done that, I would’ve grounded you - I wouldn’t even care that you’re nearly thirty.”

“I probably would not have complained if you did.”

They shared a laugh, and Şeka smoothed down the side of the _kimmet_ . “I’m sorry for fussing. You’ve set your mind, you’re emergent now, your _adik_ doesn’t need to pick your clothes out for you.”

“ _Adik_ …”

“I’m being dramatic dear. It’s just… I worry sometimes. I remember how it was when you were in school - how you didn’t look like any of the other children.”

Kelas remembered too, the side glances in changing rooms, the rough and tumble grabbing and measuring and occasionally violent punching. The isolation of being the wrong size, too small for rough play, but too different for crafts. Their hand drifted to the missing part of their aural ridge, then fell, and held the skirt in a tight fist.

“I’m bigger now. Stronger.” they said, quietly. “I can stand up for myself.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Şeka lay a hand on the fisted cloth. “But I don’t want you to _have_ to.”

“Well, that hasn’t changed for the last twenty-nine years, and it won’t change unless someone makes a stand. It might as well be me.”

Şeka looked at them for one long moment, before sighing, and shaking their head. “Your advocacy’s going to get you into trouble one day, Kelas.”

“I know. But if it means someone else doesn’t suffer needlessly…” Kelas swept down the front of their tunic, and did a little turn, allowing the fabric to circle around their ankles. “I think I’m ready, don’t you?”

“Not yet.” Şeka wandered towards the door, indicating for Kelas to stay put. “Your _kimmet_ is lovely, but you are honestly terrible at accessorising. I have just the thing…”

They vanished out the door, leaving Kelas to fiddle with the end of their braids. One minute passed, then two, then five, and Kelas had half a mind to go and find them again when they returned, holding a thin wire circlet, lined with small bumps. Kelas ducked their head, and allowed Şeka to weave it underneath and in between their braids.

“There.” they said, quietly. “You can’t wear a _kimmet_ without a crown of thorns.”

The crown of thorns used to remind medics to take time, to be careful or the barbs would prick them. Although the barbs had long since been blunted for safety, the symbolism was there, and the message was clear. Kelas smiled a little, and took Şeka’s hand.

“I know,” they murmured, patting Şeka’s hand in a soothing matter. “I’ll stay safe.”

“You’d better.” Şeka replied, equally as muted. “ _Yadik_ ’s going to have fresh _dIkta_ fish on the table tonight - I’d hate for you to miss it.”

Kelas laughed, a little sadly. “I wouldn’t miss _yadik’s dIkta_ for the world. You know that.”

“I do.” Reluctantly, they pulled away, and Kelas let their hand drop. “Go on, get to work.”

Kelas gave them one last smile, before walking over to the bed and looping their medical bag over their shoulder. They checked themselves one last time - keys, communicator, clothes, shoes, bag, hair, tricorder…

“Right,” they muttered, more to themselves than to Şeka, but Kelas looked up and gave them a half smile anyway. “Right. Time to be brave.”

Şeka smiled sadly. “I wish you didn’t have to be.”

In all honesty, Kelas wished they didn’t need to be either.


End file.
